She pranced over to
his bed where she laid on her back, crossing her golden
legs.

"Nah. It's not like
you would ever have a girl in here or anything." She
winked.

Ignoring her jest, he
flung the letter at her that he was holding.

"I got my acceptance
letter today."

"Ohh, Mr. Ivy League.
You're a little too fancy for my taste now." He knew her well
enough to know that was her version of a
compliment.

"Did you ever end up
applying anywhere?"

"Nope." She tossed
the letter back to him, but it fell short and glided to the
floor.

"What about that
university in New York? I thought you at least sent that one
in."

"I just said that to
get you off my ass." She smirked.

"So what are you
doing then?"

"Whatever the hell I
want."

"And what is
that?"

"Probably travel.
Until I wake up and decide I want to do something
else."

"I don't think it's
that easy."

"Why not? It's only
difficult if you make it that way."

There was a brief
silence.

"Come with
me."

"What?"

"Come with me. Travel
with me."

"I don't
know..."

"It'll be some much
more fun with you there."

"I
can't."

"Yes you
can."

"I have to go to
college."

"Screw
college."

"I want to be
successful. Don't you want the same?"

"I'd rather be
happy."

That was more than a
decade ago. Since then stress had left its mark upon his face,
and caffeine had become one of his most valued food groups. He
sat down at small table in an outside cafe terrace. He never got
the allure of eating outside of a restaurant, rather than in the
building. The waitress brought him out his coffee, black, before
returning back inside. Unfolding a napkin and placing it under
the saucer, he looked up at the seat across from
him.

"It's been so long. I
can't believe we let ourselves loose touch."

"Oh I know." She tucked a
piece of waved, sun bleached hair behind her ear. "I tried
calling you a few times at first. But you were always so busy,
and I was kind of hard to call back..."

"Yeah, maybe because you
refused to get a phone of your own."

"I would've had to worry
about paying for it, it would have just gotten in the
way."

"I said I would take care
of it for you. I wouldn't have minded."

"Yeah... I knew you
wouldn't." She leaned in, putting her elbows on the table and
smirking.

Taking a deep breath, she
began her story. She told him of soulless Russian winters and
golden Australian springs. She taught him the feeling of
unexpectedly waking up in the sand, using only the sun as an
alarm, and the thrill of being caught in a hurricane. She talked
of welcoming rural villages, where the days were as long and as
slow and you wanted, and of the fast paced loneliness that makes
up a city. Her triumphs and failures with foreign foods, her
cultural mishaps and her many language barriers. But as she
spoke, her emerald eyes aglow against her seasoned skin, it was
clear that no matter the outcome, she held no
regrets.

The same however, could
not be said for him. For when he spoke, he taught her of
stressful all-nighters, and grumpy TA's. He told her of looming
student loans and daunting dissertations. And then, once school
was over and the real work began, papers and tests were merely
traded for memo's and projects. Grumpy TA's became overbearing
bosses, and the all-nighters stayed nearly the same. And oddly
enough, to his own surprise, she stayed leaned in, engaged and
interested, through it all.

He finished, and there
was as slight pause.

"I didn't know how you
did it." He mumbled, fiddling with his spoon.

"What?"

"Fly so often." He kept
his gaze on the table. "I'm so afraid of flying."

"It's not too bad once
you get used to it, once you learn to to let go."

He looked up from his now
empty coffee cup at the equally empty chair across from him. He
picked up the prayer card that he was given earlier that morning,
and headed towards the office.